


Affairs of Princes

by celli



Category: The Masqueraders - Georgette Heyer
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M, Yuletide 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 22:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celli/pseuds/celli
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you prefer the spinster to the prince?"</p><p>Robin's eyes were alight with deviltry. "Let me simply say...that I appreciate both of them."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Affairs of Princes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Measured_Words](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Measured_Words/gifts).



> Huge thanks to fairestcat for an awesome beta job.

In a place that might have been Paris, in a room set aside for a man who might be royalty, a figure peered out the door. The hall was clear of soldiers or roaming courtiers, just as promised. It was a matter of moments to duck out the door and dash down the hall, petticoats and skirts gathered up in an unladylike way around most unladylike ankles.

The side gardens, usually teeming with bored ladies in waiting, was likewise deserted, save for one slender figure in a fashionable day dress seated near the fountain.

The refugee from the palace hesitated, looking about.

"Mistress Burke!" the dainty figure cried in the sweetest of voices. "You found me!"

"Ah--I believe I have not had the honor--"

"Call me Kate, please." 'Kate' gave 'Mademoiselle Burke' a much deeper curtsy than etiquette demanded. "Although you may have known me by a different name in Culloden..."

"By Jove, Robin!" The voice that came out was both male and royal. Prince Charles Edward Stuart pushed back 'Betty Burke's' mantle and grabbed the slim shoulders of his old friend. "But how have you come to be in Paris? How fare our allies at home?"

"Scotland is a land under siege, my lord," Robin said. He looked about them, then pulled the mantle back up. "My lady, that is. I wanted to report to you in person: I fear your advisors dwell too much on the fate of the chiefs, and not the common man."

The Prince, too, looked around. "I welcome your news," he said, "but I will not risk you in the telling of it. Send Mistress Kate to my quarters tonight." His eyes glinted with a humor they did not often hold since his return to France. "No one will doubt your purpose."

Robin curtsied again, taking his lord's hands in his own. "Tonight," he said, and slipped away.

***

'Mistress Kate' was admitted to the Prince's quarters that evening under the knowing eyes of one of the royal guards.

"That will be all," His Highness said, dismissing the guard with an elegant nod. They bowed their way out. A low murmur of conversation came through the door, then it closed and all was silent.

After the most elegant of curtsies, Robin pushed 'Kate's' bonnet back. "No more of Betty Burke, I see," he said, casting a lingering look at the Prince's evening clothes.

"Do you prefer the spinster to the prince?"

Robin's eyes were alight with deviltry. "Let me simply say...that I appreciate both of them."

They ate, and discussed little of importance; the Prince's eyes were drawn often to Robin's hair, still curled fashionably although the bonnet over it had been set aside, and to his slim, strong hands as they raised a wineglass or gestured to illustrate a statement. It was hard to believe that under the lace and silk lay the man who had led others in battle, and killed his share of men in the uprising. Then again, Charles had heard more than one rumor of women donning men's battle dress, and had passed reasonably well as a maid himself, so perhaps the difference between Master Robin and Mistress Kate was not as far as he might have thought.

Robin met his appraising look with a raised eyebrow and a curious little smile. Charles shook his head slightly and looked back to his meal. They would speak more soon.

***

When they did, it was not pleasant.

"Your Highness!" Robin stopped his frantic pacing to and fro. His skirts swung wildly around him. "Surely with more persuasion, the French will support you!"

Charles did not move from his chair before the fire. He kept his gaze firmly fixed on Robin, though - a prince did not shirk his duty in bad times any more than good. "While they remain constant in their professed support of me, the government here tell me they still wait for a demonstration of fealty and strength from our allies at home."

"A demonstration? Was Culloden not a demonstration? Was not Inverness? The people of Scotland - and more than a few of England - have died to demonstrate their fealty and strength." Robin collapsed in a chair. "My sister said - after Culloden, she - but I told her to have faith in you, and in our allies. I told her we would see you renowned in England as Crown Prince, and would attend your coronation as King some day. I told her--"

He broke off, his voice and face so filled with anguish that Charles was standing before he knew it. He bent over Robin's chair and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him upright. "If all those who followed my father had your will and loyalty, my Robin, I would have welcomed you in our true home long ago."

Robin took Charles's hands from his shoulders and brought first the left, then the right, to his mouth. "My prince," he said. "My liege."

Charles drew Robin forward and crushed their mouths together.

It was all a blur of clutching hands and half-uttered phrases in French and English. They dragged each other to the floor, fought with each other’s clothes. At another time, Charles might have been amused at using his skill with the fairer sex to fight his way past Robin’s layers of clothing, but there was nothing lighthearted about the way he clutched at Robin, trying to leave bruises, or the way Robin’s moans seemed as pained as pleasured.

When his head cleared, Charles realized that he was lying on the floor, half on his own coat and half on Robin’s skirts. He turned his head to find Robin looking at him, still and sad. “Stay in Paris,” he said, the words leaving his mouth before he quite realized it. “Stay in my court here.”

Robin looked at him a moment more and then sat up. Charles stood, and Robin followed. Robin began the exacting process of putting his costume in order.

“Stay,” Charles said again.

“I cannot,” Robin said simply. “To live in exile in France, knowing the price that was paid by those at home...I cannot, my prince.”

Charles bowed his head in acknowledgement.

When he looked up, Robin was smiling his usual mischievous smile, although the sparkle in his eye was dimmed. “How can one have a proper adventure as a courtier anyway?” he asked. “There’s bound to be some trouble somewhere in England that I can find.”

“I look forward to hearing of it,” Charles said.

Robin pulled his bonnet firmly over his disheveled hair and then sank into a graceful curtsy. “Goodbye, Mistress Burke.”

“ _Au revoir_ , Mistress Kate,” Charles said, and bowed low.


End file.
